


Right Next (Door) to You

by talesofstories



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Buffy is a firefighter, Dawn Willow and Xander are mentioned, F/M, Fluff, Spike is an English prof, and the girl needs a job so, but they barely have any lines so..., early British lit has never been such a popular class, it's mostly a Spike and Buffy fic, she said she'd be one when the floods roll back, what else do you need?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:41:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22500073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talesofstories/pseuds/talesofstories
Summary: “Why don’t you and Spike just move in together?”“Because that would be really weird? We’re neighbors and friends, Dawn; it’s not like we’re dating.”Buffy firmly ignored Dawn’s muttered, “You could have fooled me.”(Buffy and Spike are neighbors, best friends, confidants. What they aren't is dating. Which is the one thing that everyone assumes they are doing.)
Relationships: Spike/Buffy Summers
Comments: 19
Kudos: 155





	Right Next (Door) to You

**Author's Note:**

> There were two different figure skating competitions last weekend with a total of eighteen different events between them, which means I basically spent the entire weekend on the couch watching people kick ass and fall on their butts and break records.
> 
> So this happened.

It’s not that Buffy was _against_ meeting her neighbors. It was just that she didn’t believe in going out of her way and showing up with cookies whenever a moving van was outside her apartment building to meet people who might not stay longer than a few months and who, if they stayed long enough, she would meet anyway. That’s what happens when you live in an apartment. The mailman accidentally drops the mail for 306 into 308’s mail slot—they’re right next to each other and the numbers are so similar and it’s an easy mistake—and that’s how Buffy had met Faith when they were living in their first sad apartments.

They’ve both moved on now—Buffy to a different, slightly-less-sad apartment when she was transferred to a different fire station in LA and Faith back to Cleveland because she missed the city for some reason Buffy would never understand—but Buffy’s thoughts on meeting her neighbors remained the same. Of the other tenants on her floor, she had as yet only met Mrs. Evans because there was no way Buffy was letting her elegant but much older neighbor carry groceries up five flights of stairs during the terrible week when the elevator was out.

But when she stumbled out of the elevator one morning after working a particularly brutal shift—a mere twenty feet and one door separating her from the blessed peace of her tiny apartment—she regretted for the first time that she didn’t know her neighbors. Because while Mrs. Evans was charming, Buffy didn’t know the woman nearly well enough to ask that they let her hide out from the horror that sat fast asleep against the door in front of her apartment. That horror being one ex-boyfriend by the name of Angel who was the reason she ended up in that first sad apartment—the memory of his mournful eyes as he informed her that while he loved her he clearly wasn’t what she needed and for her sake they needed to break up and she needed to move out still providing fuel for her sessions with a punching bag—and the reason she had requested a transfer because, for all he said about them not being right together, he _kept showing up_ and she _kept letting him back in_.

Really, the transfer and move had been some of the best decisions of her life, because it had been three years since she had last seen Angel, and in that time she had had a chance to heal and figure some of her shit out. But her station had been called out on two fire runs and three medical runs last night and she wouldn’t be able to sneak into her apartment without waking him up and then he would insist on _talking_ and the elevator had already left and she would have to walk past him to get to the stairwell if she wanted to go find a coffee shop to stay at until he finally gave up but then she would probably fall asleep there and—

The door to the apartment next to hers opened, and Buffy raced to it, flinging herself into it and accidentally into the person on the other side of the door.

“Bloody hell!”

Buffy ignored the accent and warm, deep voice tickling her ear. She ignored the strong arms that had automatically wrapped around her waist and the firm chest muscles her hands were pressed against. She had to explain and she had to do it quickly before she ended up back in the hall of doom.

“Ex-boyfriend is in front of my door. I don’t know how he found where I live but please, you have to let me hide here. Or let me on your fire escape; I think I can get into my apartment from there.”

“Pet, what are you talking about?”

Buffy stepped back. They were standing just within her neighbor’s apartment, the door held open by their bodies, and if she leaned back and twisted her head toward her apartment, she could see the still-slumped over body of her ex. Apparently, her neighbor’s exclamation when she vaulted herself at him hadn’t been enough to wake the asshole. Buffy took two careful steps into the hallway, wrapping her hands around her neighbor’s shirt and pulling her with him. She then jerked her head in Angel’s direction, hissed “Ex-boyfriend,” and shoved her neighbor back into his apartment so she could get out of the hallway.

God, her neighbor was going to have her arrested for assault if she kept this up.

They were far enough into his apartment now that the door was able to close behind them. “That’s your ex?”

Buffy looked up, meeting eyes that were blue like _woah_ in a face that was scrunched in concern and confusion and devastatingly handsome in a way that she would pay attention to if she hadn’t sworn off men and if she weren’t so tired. “I can’t deal with him right now. I don’t know why he’s here or how he found me but my shift last night was impossible and I just _can’t_.” Buffy hated begging. Hated it. She hated even more that Angel always brought it out of her, first when he was breaking up with her and she was begging him to reconsider, then when he would leave again after showing up randomly in her life and she would beg him to not leave, and now with him getting her to beg a stranger to give her a break so she wouldn’t have to try to figure out what the hell he wanted now. “Please, can I stay on your couch or use your fire escape to break into my place or something?”

“Of course, pet. You can stay here as long as you need. But I can get rid of the berk, if you would prefer.”

“Wait, what?”

“Get rid of him for you. Can I borrow your keys, love?”

“My keys?”

“Your keys.” Her neighbor—god, she really needed to learn his name—shook them gently in front of her face. Oh that’s right, they were in her hand. He must have grabbed them. “If I were to unlock your apartment, walk in, and tell him I lived there, would he see anything in that would tell him you lived there? Any pictures or knick knacks or frilly bits?”

Buffy’s mind moved like sludge, she couldn’t think—“No, he didn’t like my things being around when he lived together. There won’t be anything he’d recognize.”

It was kind of fascinating how Attractive Neighbor’s face could still look concerned while also getting tighter and there was no way that bleached blonde was his natural hair color, not with dark eyebrows and eyelashes like that.

“Right, pet, you stay here. I’ll get rid of him and you’ll get your apartment back in a tick.”

The door opened and closed behind him, and Buffy found herself leaning against the flimsy wood. Maybe if she died of exhaustion standing here, she wouldn’t have to deal with any of this . . .

Footsteps moved down the hallway.

“Oi, mate, what are you doing in front of my apartment?”

“Bu-Buffy?”

“Not a bubuffy, whatever the hell that is. And you’re in front of my door.”

“It’s Buffy. It’s a name.”

“Buffy? What kind of bleedin’ ridiculous name is that?”

“I think it’s short for Elizabeth? Anyway, I was told she lives here.”

“Mate, I live here. Trust me when I say I’d know if there was a Buffy or Elizabeth or whatever living here.”

Heavy thuds happened. Perhaps Angel standing up? He tended to lumber.

“Maybe I was told the wrong number then. She’s short, got blond hair and blue eyes—” _Blue eyes??? What the fuck!_ “—and she’s a firefighter. Does that sound like anyone here?”

“She sounds like a right corker, but I haven’t seen anyone of that description, and I’ve lived her for years. Now, will you stop blocking my door?”

“How do I know _you_ live here?” Ah, great, that classic Angel belligerence toward anyone who messed with his careful plans.

“You don’t. But I have my keys here, my shit is inside, and if you don’t let me get in my bloody apartment so I can pick up my papers and get to work, I’m going to enjoy calling the cops on you for loitering in a private building looking for a chit who doesn’t live here.”

“You look like you’re ready for work already. And you didn’t leave this apartment . . .” _Shit_ , he had a point. And that he was being this belligerent meant that he was probably hung over or still drunk. Shit.

“Mate, not that it’s any of your soddin’ business, but I was on a work trip. It was supposed to get in yesterday afternoon, hence the togs. I didn’t, and now I have to go to work after sleeping on a plane. And if you don’t get out of my way, I _will_ call the cops.” Hunh, Attractive Neighbor was also brilliant. Who knew?

“Sorry, I’m just a bit—”

“Pissed. I can tell. Word of advice: if you want to hunt down the one who got away, maybe wait next time until you’re sober and have her real address.”

Bodies moved, keys jangled, a door opened. “And if she doesn’t give you her real address, she probably doesn’t want to be found and you should respect that.”

With that, her door slammed shut.

It was quiet in the hallway for a moment, then heavy footsteps stomped down the hallway. Buffy winced, _Had Angel always walked like a drunken elephant?_ The ding of the elevator being called rung out. A quiet moment, then the whoosh of the elevator doors. The elephant moved again, the doors whooshed in the other direction. A few more cautious minutes, then a door opened, footsteps sounded, a cautious knock on the wood in front of her face. Buffy opened the door and peaked around to see smiling eyes that looked right through her even as a hand jangled her keys in front of her face.

“You have terrible taste in men, love.”

She laughed weakly as she grabbed the keys from his hand.

“You say that like I don’t know it.”

* * *

That was how, for the second time, Buffy became best friends with her neighbor. Because, she quickly learned, if you gave Spike an inch, he practically moved in with you.

That evening, he came over to make sure she was okay and to actually introduce himself.

(“Didn’t have a chance to say this earlier, what with you throwing yourself in my arms and all, but I’m Spike.”

“Your name can’t really be Spike.”

“Why not?”

“There is no mother in the world who looks at her cute, sweet, gross little newborn and thinks ‘Ah, I’m gonna call this little innocent muffin “Spike.”’”

“The name’s William Pratt then. But everyone calls me Spike.”

“Buffy Summers. Not short for Elizabeth or anything else. Just Buffy.”

“Pet, he got your eye color wrong and had you hiding out in my apartment this morning. I wasn’t about to trust anything that wanker said.”)

The next night, he came over to borrow a cup of sugar. Then he came back with scones, forcing her to apologize to him for doubting that he was actually baking. Then the knob for hot water in her shower broke, and he insisted she use his until it could be fixed. (It was worth it, Spike insisted, to not be ever woken again by her screeching and swearing a blue streak caused by her unexpected ice shower.) Then they realized they both loved _Brooklyn Nine-Nine_ and they might as well watch it together. Which led to Spike realizing Buffy didn’t actually know how to feed herself all that well, which meant him getting her spare house key so he could leave food in her fridge for her with notes on how she was supposed to heat it up. Which led Buffy to demand his spare key so she could leave beer in his fridge during exam and essay grading seasons. Then Angel showed up again—sober, this time—and Buffy called Spike to come home early from work to do the whole song and dance routine again lest Angel decided to wait in front of her door and she remained trapped inside forever.

A sober Angel tried to argue that his detectives said Buffy lived there. A furious Spike shoved his key in the lock, twisted the door open while Buffy hid behind a counter, and told him that if he ever saw Angel in the building again, he’d call the cops.

One night shortly after that, Spike got the story of Angel out of her—how controlling he’d been and how she hadn’t realized how bad it had been until Faith had given her one of her patented bullshit-free lectures after he had waltzed into and back out of her life one week and left her broken for three weeks. In exchange, he told her of his ex, Drusilla, and how she had cheated on him left and right and how she had finally left _him_ because he had loved her too much to leave and save himself from her.

After that, they pretty much saw each other every day.

When Faith flew in from Cleveland to visit, the second she dropped her luggage on Buffy’s floor she demanded to meet Spike. Which worked out well, because five minutes after that—while Buffy was still in the middle of trying to talk her out her need to meet “the man who is all you ever talk about, B, and you know I gotta vet any man my girl spends time with because your radar for assholes is _shit_ ”—Spike opened her door and went straight for her kitchen. “Love, do you have any alcohol because if not we need to go to a bar tonight.” He completely missed Buffy’s eye rolls and Faith’s obviously judging stare until he had a beer bottle open in his hands. “Not as good as Jack, but it’ll—” Spike turned, seeing the women in the living room for the first time—“do?”

“So, you’re the man who’s been stealing all of my friend’s booze.”

“He’s also the one who’s been keeping me fed.” Buffy glanced at Spike. “Spike, this is Faith. Faith, Spike. Don’t kill each other.”

“I’ve heard that you’ve kept the ex away from her.” Faith gave Spike a long, assessing look. “Hand me one of those beers, and I think I can approve of you, Blondie.”

Spike silently opened the fridge door, reached in, grabbed a beer, and popped the top of for her. Faith grabbed the drink and clinked her bottle against his. “You’ll do, Blondie. But if you ever hurt her, I’ll rip your lungs out through your toes. Understand?”

“Understand.” One deep swig of his drink later, and then, “Summers, are all your friends this scary?”

* * *

Spike’s introduction to Dawn went fairly similarly, but, like with Faith, once the initial threats were gotten out of the way, they got on like a house on fire. Buffy’s introduction to Spike’s friends went much more smoothly, especially since it mostly consisted in her joining poker night every once in a while.

She liked Clem. She could do without the sad nachos that made up the meal for poker nights and the one guy who tried hitting on her. Her first royal flush got him to shut up and Spike’s eyes to sparkle at her.

* * *

If Buffy were to think about it, she would think that it was _weird_ how they settled into each other’s lives. She, frankly, didn’t trust men, and Spike had been burned by women. And while it probably helped that after her first assessment of Spike as a hunk with radioactive hair, she mostly didn’t see him as a hunk but as a friend, that still didn’t explain why she let him in when she had gotten so good at keeping most people locked out. But she did let him in; he made Buffy feel _safe_ in a way no one else ever had, and she couldn’t say why. Just that no one else had ever before cared whether stress was keeping her from eating. No one else had ever been so honestly delighted to spend time with her.

If she thought about it, Buffy was sure it would scare the shit out of her.

So she didn’t think about, just waltzed over to Spike’s place to remind him that he had promised to go ice skating with her.

* * *

A year after she flung her way into Spike’s life, Buffy was complaining to her sister about how her rent was going up. Again.

“Why don’t you and Spike just move in together?”

“Because that would be really weird? We’re neighbors and friends, Dawn; it’s not like we’re dating.”

Buffy firmly ignored Dawn’s muttered, “You could have fooled me.”

* * *

“Dalton said an odd thing to me today.”

Buffy didn’t look up from last month’s issue of _Cosmo_ she was flipping through. “Was it another lecture on how the punk look really isn’t an appropriate look to rock for a member of the distinguished English department and if he’d known you’d go through your mid-life crisis so young and start looking like a Billy Idol wannabe, he wouldn’t have hired you as a professor?”

“Nah, that’s normal. And I thought you liked my look?”

“Is this a good time to remind you that I never _saw_ your previous look? Besides, you know you look good, and as far as post-breakup looks go, it puts me and my misadvised bob to shame.”

“One of these days, I’m gonna find a picture of that.”

“Not a chance, Bleach Boy. I made sure to destroy all the evidence. Now, what’d your department chair say this time?”

Spike glanced up at her from where he was cooking their dinner, a teasing grin playing on his lips. “He asked how my girlfriend was.”

“And you told him that she was nonexistent?”

“I did. Then he got all worried that we had broken up.”

That was interesting enough to get her to drop the _Cosmo_. “William Pratt, why didn’t you tell me we’re dating?”

“Sorry, love, if I’d only known myself I would have made sure you’d known too.”

She sniffed, picking _Cosmo_ back up again. “Good. I hate to not know when I’m in love with someone.”

* * *

When it’s warm enough for their windows to be open and not so warm that open windows and no air conditioning equaled death, Buffy played Billy Idol songs. “Rebel Yell” and “Hot in the City” earned her eye rolls; she could tell even when he was in a different apartment. “Mony Mony” brought him over every single time. “Really, Summers?”

“Always, Pratt.”

* * *

(Buffy didn’t tell him that she saved “Mony Mony” as his ringtone. She wanted to see what color his face would turn if he ever found out about it on his own.)

* * *

When the elevator dropped her off on her floor, Buffy didn’t even bother going to her apartment. Instead, she let herself into Spike’s apartment, walked past him as he sat at his table grading papers, and planted herself face-first into his couch.

“I take it the date didn’t go well?”

Buffy grunted.

“Since you’re back so soon?”

Another grunt.

“And all your girly ‘I got asked out on a date by a bloke’ giddiness seems to have finally buggered off after a week of non-stop bubbliness?”

That query wasn’t even worth a grunt.

“Was the dinner good at least, or do I have to feed you as well as let you merge with my couch? Your butt is too boney to sit on, you know.”

Buffy rolled over. “The dinner,” she announced grandly to the ceiling, “the dinner was nice. Very fine. Very fancy. Did you know that if your dinner date gets arrested partway through the meal, for bigamy, no less, you, the innocent person trying to die of embarrassment while everyone stares at you as your date gets hauled away, still have to pay for the meal?”

Buffy found it very gratifying how quiet Spike became after that statement. It made it almost worthwhile that Parker fucking Abrams was arrested on her first attempt at dating since walling Angel out of her life for good. Even if it meant she had to pay for his meal. The piece of shit.

Then, just as she was contemplating why Parker fucking Abrams couldn’t have waited until after dessert to get arrested, her glorious, hard-earned silence was broken.

“Christ, woman, you really are terrible at picking out blokes.”

* * *

Buffy used a week of her hard-saved vacation time to go with Spike to London. Spike insisted, saying that she couldn’t save the entire world and she needed a break and tempting her with showing her the scenes of his greatest teenage embarrassments. He even went over her head, casually mentioning the idea to her boss when he picked her up from work one day, and Merrick, the traitor, was gruffly thrilled with the idea: “Go, see the sights with your boyfriend. Take a break. You deserve it.”

Buffy started to protest. But the “he’s not my boyfriend” had barely made it out of her mouth before she realized her protests were futile. Merrick was already focused on something else and Spike was looking too damned pleased with himself to bother listening. Rather than wasting her energy trying to argue with them, Buffy decided that what she needed to do was a lot of shopping in preparation for her vacation. She smiled as they walked to Spike’s car; she had _just_ the person to carry her shopping bags.

* * *

The annoying, the truly annoying, thing about Spike Pratt was that, when he chose to, he could be absolutely charming. Not to her, of course. To her he was all snarky quips and stupid insights and nagging about whether she had ate breakfast and a surprisingly comfortable pillow sometimes when they had stayed up too late binging whatever show they were on now. But to her mom? The man was a fucking Casanova wrapped in little boy “don’t you just want to adopt me?” charm.

And it _worked_.

Buffy wouldn’t lie. Her relationship with her mom was complicated. When she had been accused of arson, her mom had insisted Buffy see a shrink, ignoring all of Buffy’s protestations of her innocence. And when it turned out Buffy hadn’t been part of the burning down of her school gym, her mom had just kind of pretended like it hadn’t happened. No apology, no “I should have listened to you,” nothing. When Buffy hadn’t liked some guy her mom had dated, her mom had been furious with her, even though he later turned out to be a jerk and a cad. Another thing she had never received an apology for. They had constantly bickered, and it wasn’t until her mom had had cancer and everything seemed suddenly so meaningless with a sick mom that they had started to mend their relationship. But still, it was best if they didn’t see each other too regularly.

Spike had gotten the whole sad story out of her late one night while he painted her toenails pink and she painted his fingernails black. He had no family of his own (the car crash that killed his dad and sister followed years later by the sickness that killed his mum a story he told on a different night that included a lot of Jack Daniels), so he volunteered to go with her whenever she went home.

He was a hit.

And while it was a bit annoying that he could go home and chat with her mom about art and New York and London and literature when all she got was the third degree on why she hadn’t settled down yet and created some fat grandbabies, it was nice watching Spike light up when they talked, nice hearing him say what a nice lady her mom was, nice to have someone who so willingly would take the heat.

It wasn’t so nice when all her phone calls with her mother after she first met Spike included “why aren’t you dating that nice William yet?” but Buffy supposed she couldn’t have everything. _Besides_ , she told Spike after she had thrown her phone onto her bed from her living room and stomped over to his place to raid his stash of ice cream, _it’s not like they talked that often anyway_.

* * *

Remember how you went on that date with that blonde idiot back in July, and you were ‘too much of a gentleman’”—Buffy rolled her eyes, making air quotes with her fingers as she quoted him—“to say you’d rather have a cactus shoved up your ass than sleep with her, and she didn’t take any of your hints and so you had me pretend to be your fiancé and I got to yell at you in a restaurant for cheating on me?”

“Yeah . . . ?”

“And remember how afterward you said that you owed me one?”

Spike’s face cleared. “Ah, you want me to take you out to some girly flick? Will there be tears? Will you need to lean into my manly arms?”

His eyebrow waggle was completely wasted as Buffy rolled her eyes again.

“Please, you’re the one who likes to watch chick flicks. I wouldn’t waste a favor on that. Everyone knows about your crush on Sandra Bullock.”

“Oi! She’s a nice lookin’ bird!”

“Unh-hunh, and the fact that she could kick your ass has nothing to do with it.”

“Nothin’ wrong with appreciating a strong woman.”

“There’s appreciating, and then there’s _appreciating_. But anyway, that’s not my favor.”

“What’s the favor then? Need someone to provide feedback while you shop for bikinis? Or lingerie? Maybe both?”

“God, do you ever quit?”

Spike tucked his tongue between his teeth, waggling his eyebrows at the woman lounging on his couch with him. “Around you? Never, love.”

Buffy tried to force the blush of her cheeks, but based on the delighted look that crossed his face, she wasn’t successful. _Oh well_. “Some friends of mine from high school are in town, and they want us to get together for old time’s sake. You’re coming with.”

The look that crossed his face was comical—a wide-eyed look of fear on a bad boy punk hiding the heart of a softie. “Wait, now, kitten, I don’t know—”

“Wasn’t Harmony calling you her cute little Blondie Bear? Talking about how adorable your kids would be? Thirty minutes into your date?”

Spike’s breath hissed out through his teeth in a rush. “Right. High school pals. When are we doing this, why do you need backup, and should I wear armor?”

“Next Friday, and they’re nothing like Faith and Dawn so you’ll be fine.” Buffy was quiet a minute, and Spike, with that uncanny sense he had for her, remained still while she worked out how to explain Xander and Willow. “They had been friends since kindergarten, and when we moved to Sunnydale, I joined their little friendship group. But they always had this idea of who I should be, you know? And I never really got why they had this idea of me, but I was a dumb teen and after all that had happened between Mom and Dad and my friends in LA, I just wanted to have people I could rely on, even if it meant living up to their dumb expectations.”

They were on Spike’s couch, Buffy lying on one end with her feet in Spike’s lap and Spike lounging on the other with his legs wide and arms spread. This casual sprawl was how they always ended up sitting whenever they were watching something on TV. But when things got sad, Spike would hold Buffy. After the first time he realized she was crying during a movie (she had never seen Star Wars, and Han Solo had just been frozen in carbonite), he yanked on her foot and manhandled her so that his arms were wrapped around her and her head was tucked against his chest. After that, all Spike had to do was pull on Buffy’s foot to get her to move into the Approved Buffy Comforting Position.

Apparently, the edge in her voice when talking about their expectations was enough to raise Spike’s hackles. One strong tug on her ankle, and she was rearranging herself to be held.

“They were good friends, for the most part. We just fell apart after high school. But before that, they kind of fucked me up.”

“How’s that, kitten?” His voice was the steady tone he took whenever she revealed something hard, and Buffy could have kissed him for recognizing that this was one of the hard things.

“They thought I should be perfect, that nothing should ever hurt me. The last summer I spent with my dad, the one when he made his way through three girlfriends, they were upset when I came back sad. They didn’t ask me why I was sad; they just wanted peppy, cheerleader Buffy. They both had kind of crappy home lives, but they wouldn’t realize that just because Mom seemed so great and Dawn like a perfectly normal, bratty sister that I also might have hard things.”

“Teens are selfish like that, pet. Doesn’t make it right; just makes it normal.”

“I know. It just . . .” Buffy took a deep breath, trying to feel her way around the words, “It felt like I always had to be happy, like my pain mattered less compared to theirs.”

They were quiet for a minute. Spike carded his hand through her hair, gently petting her as she worked up the courage to say the next two things.

“Xander . . . Xander always liked me. I thought he knew I loved him like a brother and nothing more but. . . . One night we got into some beer. Dumb kids, Friday night, you know?”

Spike murmured his assent, and Buffy took a deep breath. “Willow had left to meet her parent’s curfew. Mom was out on a buying trip, so I thought I’d hang around a bit longer. He decided that was the time to come onto me. And, ummm, he didn’t really take no for an answer.”

The human pillow beneath her stiffened up even as the hand stroking through her hair remained gentle.

“I kicked him off me and ran home. I didn’t know what to do, so I just didn’t tell anyone. Monday, he was talking like he didn’t really remember what happened after Willow left, so I just went along with it. Said I got tired and went home. But I think he lied. He would say things later and . . . I think he remembered.”

“So you’re inviting me so I can yank the wanker’s balls off?”

Buffy smiled, a teary thing hidden into Spike’s chest. “There’s more.”

“There better not be. Wanker’s already losing his balls; next I rip off limbs.”

“Willow’s the one who introduced me to Angel.”

Spike’s body, impossibly, became even stiffer with tension, and she could feel his fingers tremble even as they kept up their comforting circuit over her hair. It was, oddly enough, the most comforting feeling, knowing that someone was furious on her behalf. Besides Faith, of course, who would get furious on a friend’s behalf at the slightest provocation.

“She thought we would be a cute couple, encouraged me to give him a chance. I don’t think she knew he would turn out so terrible, but in those early days, she talked me into forgiving him for a lot of stuff that should have been red flags. And after we were no longer really friends, he was so rooted in my life that I kept putting up with a lot of shit.”

The quiet that settled around them was peaceful the way only quiet with Spike ever could be. For all that his body was still tense and she had just dragged up more of her past than she had shared with anyone, Buffy felt at peace for the first time since getting the texts from Xander and Willow asking to get together.

“Buffy, love, why are we going to see these people? Do you even want to see them?”

“I feel like I should. And I know that’s a dumb reason and I don’t owe them anything, but I don’t think they ever thought they were doing anything wrong and I feel like I should see them to maybe just set all this aside but if you don’t want to come you don’t have to—” She was spiraling, babbling the way she always did when she was nervous, when Spike cut her off.

“Buffy, love, I’m going. I’m not letting you get near these people without me by your side, okay?”

Buffy nodded into his chest, not wanting to admit to the relief she felt knowing he’d be at her side.

“And I’ll be wearing eyeliner and all the leather. Maybe a dog collar. Think I bought one for a concert once.”

* * *

(She talked him out of wearing the studded dog collar to dinner with Willow and Xander and their wives, but that was the only way Buffy was able to tone down her overly protective best friend. And really, she was fine with it. She felt safer, more confident with him by her side. And when Spike left the table to use the restroom and Willow leaned over to whisper, “Your boyfriend’s kind of scary, Buffy,” she didn’t even argue that they weren’t dating. Buffy just smiled and agreed.)

* * *

Later, she would say that it was bound to happen eventually. Buffy loved her job, loved the rush of adrenaline doing her job gave her and the concrete knowledge that she had helped people even as it broke her heart when they couldn’t do enough. More often than not, she and her coworkers walked away from a scene completely fine other than being covered in ash and reeking of smoke. (It was entirely possible that the shampoo she used was too strong, too vanilla-scented, but there was something about still being able to smell it when she took off her helmet at the end of a bad shift that kept her grounded long enough to make it home, take a shower, and force Spike to hold her.) But her job meant that she had to go into burning buildings sometimes, and no matter how careful and professional they were, in a scene of chaos, things could happen.

Like a beam falling, cracking across her skull, dropping her unconscious to the ground.

Buffy woke up in the hospital, a litany of British curses she still didn’t fully understand even after three years breaking the quiet to her left. Well, not really quiet. There was an awful lot of noise coming from somewhere nearby, and her head was pounding enough to make its own marching band. Or maybe a steel drum band . . .

“Sir?” An unknown voice added to the cacophony and broke off the oddly melodious cursing. “Only family is supposed to be here. You’re going to have to leave.”

“I’m her bleedin’ fiancé. And her emergency contact. Your people called me, and you’ll make me leave over my dead body.” It was amazing how comforting an enraged snarl could be.

Buffy listened while whoever-it-was made their apologies and quickly left, listened while the cursing began again.

“So, fiancé, hunh?”

“Buffy, love?”

“Present and accounted for.” She opened her eyes enough to see Spike’s face hovering over hers, his eyes strained and face paler than normal. “What happened?”

“You bloody well gave me a heart attack, ’swot happened. I’m at work, sittin’ bored through my office hours, tryin’ to figure out what I’m makin’ us for dinner, and I get a call that you’re unconscious in the hospital. Think I broke seven traffic laws just to get here. Then I get here and they say you’re still unconscious and I make them take me to you and I see the most beautiful girl in the world lyin’ all pale and still and I didn’t stop prayin’ ’til just now.”

“Funny, it sounded more like swearing to me.”

“God hears it all, pet. I’m sure he knew I was politely requestin’ you be okay rather than violently threatenin’ all of heaven’s hosts.”

Buffy smiled and watched the tension bleed out him. “But, fiancé?”

“How do you think I got them to bring me up here in the first place? And shooed away the last three interferin’ nurses?”  
“The same way you get everything else you want? By flirting with anything that moves?”

“Love, I dunno if you’ve noticed this, but not five minutes ago, you were unconscious. Was so worried I couldn’t have seduced a bitch in heat, let alone flirt my way to your side.”

It hit Buffy then, looking into his eyes and seeing the frantic worry still present there and feeling his hands grip hers one where it lay next to him: She, Buffy Summers, who had sworn off men when she had finally moved past Angel, _loved_ him, William Pratt of the stupid nickname and the too blue eyes and the best friend status.

Fuck.

* * *

Normally, at this point, like any sensible grown woman, Buffy would have run as far and fast away from her feelings as possible. Maybe take a vacation and not take Spike with her for the first time in three years. Or visit her mom, again without Spike for the first time in three years.

But when they finally released her from the hospital, she was still on concussion watch with Spike as her dedicated watcher. And he, taking his job very seriously, settled her on her couch, went to his apartment, and came back seven minutes later with an overnight bag. Which meant that instead of hiding from her feelings, she had to face them. Literally.

But, Buffy decided, not before talking to Faith.

It was surprisingly difficult to get Spike to agree to leave her alone for a shower. She finally had to shove him out of the bathroom with a promise he could break in if she wasn’t out in twenty minutes. She dialed Faith while yanking the water on.

“B! How’s it hanging, girl?”

“Terrible. Faith, I’m in love with Spike.”

Faith used up five of Buffy’s precious twenty minutes laughing at her before she got down to business. “B, the two of you have been dating for years now. The only ones who don’t know it are you and Blondie.”

Buffy huffed a strand of hair out of her eyes in frustration. “No, we’re just good friends.”

“B. I love you. But the two of you? Old married couple without being old, married, or a couple. You do everything together, you go everywhere together, and I’d bet good money he knows shit about you even I don’t know.”

“Yeah, but—”

“You mentioned that you thought he was hot the first time you saw him, and babe, I’ve seen the way he looks at you. The feeling’s mutual. And gotta say, Buff, he’s a good guy. Know your radar for dickheads is bad, but he’s a good one. I approve of him, and you know my thoughts on the Y chromosome.”

Water drummed down in her shower while Buffy sat on the toilet, chewing on her bottom lip and thinking over his frantic worry in the hospital, trying to measure out whether that was just the frantic worry of a man concerned for his best friend or the frantic worry of a man who might want to maybe kiss his best friend. “But what if I tell him I like him, and it ruins everything?” she finally whispered.

A sigh met her question. “Buffy, what made you realize that you’re in love with him?”

“I was hurt at work. They took me to the hospital, and then he showed up, saying he was my fiancé so he could see me. And I just realized . . . and now he’s pacing in my kitchen, thinking I’m taking a shower, waiting to break in to the bathroom to make sure I’m not passed out due to a concussion, and I love him.”

“Not even dating and you’re getting into kinky stuff.”

“Faith . . .”

“Joking, B. But seriously. Tell him. Maybe wait until he’s no longer concerned you have a concussion, but tell him.”

“What if it ruins everything?”

“Trust me, B. It won’t.”

* * *

Buffy waited a week. She might have waited longer, but Faith had taken up texting her every day, demanding to know if she had told Spike yet. Which she could have ignored, except she tended to leave her phone lying out when she was at home. Spike had picked up her phone to pass it to her when another text came in. He glanced at it, then looked at Buffy, confused. “What does Faith want you to tell me?”

“Who said Faith wants me to tell you anything?”

He chuckled, a warm thing that rolled down her spine. “Unless there’s some other bloke you know who would have Faith texting, ‘Tell him tell him tell him,’ all caps, by the way, I’m assuming she means me.”

Buffy took a deep breath and looked him straight in the eye. Moment of truth. “Umm, well.” _Has eye contact always been this hard?_ She dropped her gaze to his chin, but it was still too close to his eyes so she opted for his right elbow instead. “I just sort of realized the other day that, ummm, I’m kind of sort of inlovewithyou.”

The silence between them, for once, was deafening. “You’re . . . what?”

 _Ouch_. She was going to _kill_ Faith. “In love with you? And I have been for a while? But I just realized, like, a week ago?”

Spike stood there for half a second, and then—“Thank, Christ”—he dropped her phone back on the couch, took three long strides forward, and pulled her to him. He kissed her, and stars exploded, fireworks shot off in her mind. Spike’s lips had dropped kisses on her cheeks, forehead, and head before, but none were like this, this explosion of warmth and light and color as they caressed her lips. Spike kissed her like she was all he needed to survive, and his kisses made her feel like she was being born anew.

“Buffy,” he pulled away on a ragged breath, tilting their foreheads together and continuing to hold her close. “I’ve been in love with you for soddin’ ever.”

Buffy’s heart leapt in her chest. She was about to ask when he knew and why he hadn’t said anything, but then he started kissing her again, and anything besides the feel of Spike’s lips on her and his arms around her became unimportant.

Besides, she was pretty sure the kissing meant she would see him even more often than she already did. She could ask him later.

* * *

Six months later, Buffy and Spike took an impromptu mini-vacation to Las Vegas. And came back married. When she told her coworkers the exciting news that they had eloped, though, all Buffy got in response were blank looks. “Wait, you mean you two weren’t already married?” was Merrick’s contribution.

Faith laughed for a solid ten minutes when Buffy told her.


End file.
